


escape/negate

by Echo (Lyrecho)



Series: our roots remain as one [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Experimentation, Child Soldiers, Disturbingly Existential Children, Found Family, Gen, Internalised Body Horror, MT!AU, Oneshot, PTSD, Self Loathing, boy aren't these fun tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 15:24:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9613883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrecho/pseuds/Echo
Summary: "What do we do?" The voice came from the back of the room, one of the bottom bunks - a girl about Aranea's age, studiously ignoring the quiet whines of the youngest ones in their midst; unused to any sort of change and scared despite themselves, even though they knew they would be punished for their unsightly behaviour later. At least no one was crying yet, as far as Aranea could hear - tears always brought on the worst punishments. "We - we can't just leave, can we?"In the middle of the night, on a (supposed to be) secret Niflheim base, something goes wrong - and the Magitek units - thechildrenthat have suffered there for so long see only one thing:An opportunity.|Tumblr||Twitter|





	

**Author's Note:**

> I. I need more MT/sibling au in my life.
> 
> I swear this series will get fluffier in later instalments.
> 
> Apparently I <3 Aranea hardcore, which, you know, fair enough.

The moment she opened her eyes, Aranea _knew_ something was wrong. A quick glance at the small, barred window positioned too high up on the wall for any of them to reach revealed why - it was still dark out, the sky the pitch navy shade of the deepest night, and there was _noise_ coming from outside. _Everyone_ knew that dark out was lights out. Hell, every night the lab technicians locked them into their 'dorms,' just in case. There was no way for anyone to be out and wondering around at this hour.

Except they _were_.

Quietly, she slid out from her own bunk - and was, for once, glad that she had been stuck on one of the bottom ones, by the door - and tip-toed her way to the locked door that led out into the hall. It was a vacuum sealed door, shut tight and locked from the outside; she couldn't get out and no light could come in - but it wasn't sound proof, and she gently pressed herself against it, straining her ears to catch even just a _hint_ of what was going on. Around here, after all, nothing ever changed. The lab didn't like breaks from routine. Whatever had happened, she doubted it was anything good - at least, probably not for her.

" _Aranea_." The voice was a hissing whisper she only caught because of her enhanced senses, so she didn't turn to hush the person who had spoken - if she could only _just_ hear them, with all the commotion going on outside, no way could any of the patrolling soldiers. "What's going on? What are you doing?"

She turned to see one of her bunkmates blinking at her - she didn't know their name. "Can't you hear?" She asked, and saw from the other beds, the eyes of the other girls who were stored with her - each of their eyes glinting as they caught a light that didn't exist in the room. "Something is _happening_ out there."

One of the older girls - she had a year or two on Aranea, she thought - hopped down from the bed she'd claimed with her seniority; top bunk just by the window, or at least as close to it as any of them could get. She landed softly, on hands and legs spread out to take the impact, with barely a muffled _thump_ to show for her effort.

"Not just in the hall," she said, neck stretched and head craned back with gaze fixated on the window. "There are lights outside too, look."

As one, every girl turned over in her bed - some pushing off their thin blankets to scramble down to the ground and crowd around her, watching closely for whatever it was she had seen -

\- and then it came. Orange and fierce and vibrant, it lit up the navy sky like a firework - and in their room, each and every single one of them tensed; that wasn't just an accidental fire or for show, that was an _explosion_.

 _Bombs?_ Aranea's mind raced as she stared, only half paying attention to the increasingly more frantic noises coming from the hall outside of the door. _Firaga spells? Have Lucian's breached far enough into Niflheim to attack our base? Special Ops? A strike team?_ She could see similar thoughts written on the faces of every other girl in the room - and underlying all that; _fear_. Fear that when - if - the base was evacuated, they would be left behind. Left behind as prisoners to be taken - or simply having to wait to be burned.

If she hadn't been leaning against the door, she wouldn't have noticed it - the scientists and technicians and soldiers that surrounded them all day, every day, _knew_ , after all - their hearing was better than theirs could ever hope to be; they were both faster and smaller, and if given the warning of the sound of the locks disengaging, they could quickly overwhelm whoever was at their door (even if it would be futile; they'd simply be caught or gunned down later, the further they ran throughout the base the less chance of real escape they would have); and so they had built something else special into the lightproof, airproof, reinforced doors - soundless locks; mechanisms that clicked and worked together seamlessly and without a sound.

But, soundless or not, those lock pieces were _moving_ inside the door when they were in use - and Aranea _felt_ that in that moment, the door pressed up against her back vibrating slightly in time with the mechanism.

Wide-eyed, she hissed out for the other girls and pushed away from the door.

"Get back in bed, hurry!" She said, and launched herself under her own blanket. "Someone's coming in."

For a moment, they all just simply _blinked_ at her - likely thinking on how they'd never had advance notice _before_ when someone was coming in through the door. But that moment was only a brief second, and then it passed - each girl flitting to her bed with a speed that was something more than human and sinking under blankets pulled to their chins with eyes closed. Even if they weren't sure _themselves_ of whether or not someone was actually entering the room, they all knew Aranea had no reason to lie, and more than that - it simply wasn't worth the risk. You weren't allowed out of your bunk once you had been put there; that was just the _rule_. The adults in authority around here - they wouldn't care if they had been awoken by explosions or sound; they would only care for the 'insubordination' they would be showing if they broke the rules. And if it was the _enemy_ that had managed to breach so far into the base...

Well. The image of eight sleeping girls, the eldest not even fourteen years of age, would be enough to give most people pause in violent thoughts, even enemy soldiers. And if that was the case - that would, of course, be their last mistake.

Light came into the room slowly as the door - made of heavy if not reinforced metals - swung open automatically, on the timer it always was. Even with her eyes shut, Aranea could see it - her vision was pink through her closed eyelids, and she counted down the time in the back of her head to the point she knew the door _had_ to be fully open.

And still, there wasn't any sound except that which she had already heard, just amplified - and, further down the hall, whispers - curious and confused and _young_ , not sounding any older than them in their bunks - _not_ adults.

Her eyes snapped open.

Carefully, slowly, she rolled over in her bed in a way that could have been natural even in sleep, stretching out her arm as if readjusting to make herself comfortable and angling it in a way that would block her face from being seen from anyone standing in the now open doorway - even if _she_ would be able to see _them_.

Her caution was unnecessary, though - there was no one there, just the empty doorway, with the light shining through it - stark and ominous.

 _A test?_ She wondered. _A malfunction - something broken in the mainframe's connection to the door? Did the explosions trigger something, some sort of emergency kill switch on the security functions?_

She supposed that made sense. After all, this base wasn't like the others Niflheim had set up all along its border - didn't keep prisoners and wasn't even fully weaponized, not like the ones that had been doing battle with Lucis. No, this base was a testing arena - and while they wanted to keep their test subjects out of the way and within their grasp, at the same time it made no sense to let them die if there was some sort of disaster; like a tornado - or a fire. It seemed perfectly logical that there would be some sort of system override on the doors to open and _stay_ open if enough smoke was detected, or something - because, as Aranea realised and the others began to mutter about, throwing caution to the wind as they ended their facade of sleep - the door _wasn't closing_.

She counted back in her head again. Once more. Twice. Still, the door remained open - long past what the automatic timer for it normally allowed.

And, much like the door - they were all stalled, staring at each other with anxiety and confusion.

"What do we do?" The voice came from the back of the room, one of the bottom bunks - a girl about Aranea's age, studiously ignoring the quiet whines of the youngest ones in their midst; unused to any sort of change and scared despite themselves, even though they knew they would be punished for their unsightly behaviour later. At least no one was _crying_ yet, as far as Aranea could hear - tears always brought on the worst punishments. "We - we can't just _leave,_ can we?"

There was both hope and hesitance in her voice - and Aranea could feel that selfsame sensation inside of her own heart, and settling into the atmosphere of the room. The door was open - they _could_ leave - but, what then? If it was a test, they would be punished for failing. If they were caught, they would be punished for breaking the rules.

Another explosion sounded outside - a faint, muffled boom in the distance - and the chatter of young voices outside in the hall quieted before picking up once again, even louder than before - and more panicked.

And that made Aranea's decision for her. If they were being watched, then by now soldiers would have poured into the hall from either end via the reinforced shelter doors that sealed them away completely from access to the rest of the base - but they hadn't. The kids in the other rooms were clearly breaking the rules and not being quiet or subtle about it, and yet they were still standing out there. If there had yet to be any punishment for them, she doubted one would be forthcoming for her.

As scary a thought as it was, it seemed that the explosions outside really _were_ real.

And Aranea wasn't the only one to figure that out - "Be careful," Mallory said, as she slipped down from her own bunk; at fifteen years of age, she was the oldest of all the second generation Magitek units. "If the base is being attacked, this might be our best chance to get out of here - but at the same time, it'll be easy to get caught in the fire. If it's Lucian's out there, they might not want to fire on kids - but the soldiers stationed here _know_ about us. They won't care, and if firing through us gives them the advantage of shock value to strike down enemy combatants, they'll do it. You know they will." She looked over each and every one of them carefully. "We're not alone, though - it sounds like the others have had their doors opened, too."

She glanced around the room, and met each of their eyes in turn - when her gaze locked with Aranea's, she could _feel_ the weight of the situation pierce through her - they were so serious, so solemn.

"None of them have moved past our room," Aranea pointed out, and all eyes swiveled to her. "They probably haven't left their own rooms; or at least haven't walked too far past their doorways. They're probably just as scared as we are."

Mutiny flashed across the faces of every girl staring at her at the notion of them being _scared_ \- of _course_ they weren't, what did Aranea _take them for_ \- but no one spoke out in protest of her words. They all _were_ scared, even if they wanted to deny it. Aranea was _terrified_.

"So...we should go out there, right?" One of the girls piped up. "There are a lot of younger kids in the other dorms. We're older. We should set a good example."

"Most of the younger ones are first generation, though," another pointed out. "They can take care of themselves better than we ever could."

Aranea scowled, and her hand itched for a weapon - she snatched her pillow from her bed and threw it across the room, nailing the girl who had spoken last right on the head even as she reached up with one hand to block the projectile Aranea had launched her way.

"Don't be petty," she said. "Stupid generational rivalries don't matter right now. Can't you see? The base is _on fire_. If we don't _all_ work together, we're _all_ going to die here."

Before she could rethink her own words, or anybody could interject a protest into the silence that had fallen after she had spoken, Aranea slid out of her bed, and stalked confidently to the door - purpose in each stride.

Later, she’d admit it quietly (at least to herself) that she’d been terrified as she’d taken that first step out into the hall; forbidden territory. But, in that moment? Caught up in adrenalin and the need to show the others there was _nothing_ to be scared of – she barely felt anything at all. She was numb, and the world around her was dimmed – until she finally exited the room and dozens of eyes, equally as frightened as the ones behind her (and her own), fell upon her.

She recognised most of the people those eyes belonged to – in image if not directly in name; she was _bad_ with names. She was familiar to some of them, too – mostly the older kids; second generation MTs like her. The younger ones, the first generation, infected with the Scourge from before they were even born, unlike her (they’d been born and _created_ to be the way they were; her enhancements were just a post-birth _addition_ ) – they didn’t know her, which made sense since classes and training and experiments _were_ kept separate by generation-type and age, but they stared at her with some measure of comfort in her eyes – probably because her confident façade had yet to be broken open to reveal the frightened little girl underneath. She was older, she was there, and she didn’t look scared. Maybe not an adult, but in the end, wasn’t that a _good_ thing? So long as they had someone to tell them what to do – to give them orders – they would be fine.

She took in a deep breath. She was _twelve_ , and just a foot soldier – she’d never even been _trained_ for any sort of command, _how was she meant to pull all of them together?_

It didn’t matter. For now, at least, she had to.

Further down the hall, though – some of the older kids stepped out of their rooms, as if feeling reassured or strengthened by the visible image of someone else stepping out of the shadows. Not just girls either, she saw – but some of the boys as well, from their rooms right down the opposite end of the hall.

“Do you…” One of the boys spoke out hesitantly, his voice faintly accented in a way Aranea knew could only be trained, like all of them had been trained – in order to blend in better to whatever societies they were placed in. She didn’t recognize the accent exactly, which surprised her – but maybe he just hadn’t nailed whatever he was going for, yet. It didn’t really matter, she supposed, and shook her head clear of thoughts to better focus on his words as he got through his speech block and continued: “Do any of you know what’s going on out there?”

Aranea hesitated for a brief moment – everyone’s heads had swiveled to her and with such hopeful eyes turned her way she didn’t want to just say _no_ and get them all scared again – but she couldn’t lie, either. “No,” she said. “It looks like we might be getting attacked, though – there are explosions outside.”

Almost as one, everyone looked at one another. “So…” one of the younger boys, blond hair and likely first generation MT, spoke up. “What do we do?” He was staring directly at Aranea, blue eyes piercing even through the fringe that fell into his eyes – MTs didn’t have ‘regulation’ haircuts, all the better to keep them from standing out – but in his case, it didn’t seem like a choice or something was styled for him, and more like the lab technicians – or, no, the first generation kids had different people to look after them; like that blonde woman they called ‘matron’ – had just never really taken a pair of scissors to his hair. This taken in with how slight he was – how small and pale – just made Aranea really _feel_ the weight of what was going on around her: _most_ of the kids were under ten years of age; first generation MTs that hadn’t gotten the same level of battle training as the second generation lot; the secret crown jewels of the Niflheim army, not going to be pushed into any sort of combat until the higher ups could be certain that a) their experiments could handle it and b) they could _control_ them when they did. The bulk of the MT program was made up of the second generation for a very good reason – they were cheaper and easier to produce, and didn’t hold the same problems the first generation had inherent with their base lack of humanity; there weren’t as many kinks to work out.

What this meant, really, logically – was that out of all of them _here_ , on _this_ particular base, still in training and not yet out on the field – only a few had ever actually _left_ the base, or even left the _building_ they were housed in. They were looking to Aranea – to Mallory behind her and to the boys at the end of the hall – because they didn’t know what else to do. In absence of an adult authority figure, they were the oldest – held seniority, and were thus the ‘acting commanders.’

So. What _were_ they going to do?

She looked behind her, and saw eyes full of determination – turned her gaze back outwards, and saw the same thing on every face turned her way. Sure, there was fear – of _course_ there was fear, they were _kids_ , just _kids_ – but not even _one_ hint of that fear overpowered the opportunity they suddenly had before them. The base was chaos and mayhem, no doubt about it – this was it, this was their _chance_ ; if they timed it right, if they were careful and smart about it, then maybe – no, definitely…

They could get out of here.

“We’re going to take this opportunity,” she said, speaking fast and low. “We’re going to stealth our way through the base and _run_ for it.”

“A crowd is too noticeable, all at once,” Mallory pointed out. “Especially given what we’re all wearing.” She plucked distastefully at the collar of the pure white tunic she wore. “Even in the chaos caused by the explosions, white against the night is pretty obvious.”

“Then we don’t move in a group,” Aranea said, and closed her heart off to the protests that echoed out upon her words. “We all leave, and then we _scatter_. Stick to smaller groups, of maybe four or five.” She met Mallory’s assessing gaze defiantly, chin jutting out as she locked her jaw.

“That means we might not ever all see each other again,” she pointed out. “If we run in opposite directions, how are we meant to keep in contact?”

For a moment, Aranea faltered – but only for a moment. She shook her head. “That doesn’t matter,” she said, speaking earnestly. “What matters is that we all get out of here.” She paused. “What matters is that none of us never have to suffer in the lab again.”

A chorus of muttered agreements rung out.

“She’s right,” one of the boys said. “We just need to _leave_.”

“Then let’s do it,” Mallory said. “Let’s _go_.”

At both ends of the hall, the doors that led out to the rest of the base _were_ open – and either way could lead them out into the greater area of the base. Aranea considered, and then stepped in the direction of the boy’s rooms. “Let’s split up evenly,” she said. “Half and half in either direction.”

As one, everyone nodded.

And then, they _moved_. Each and every one of them had been trained since pretty much birth – or, literally since birth – to follow not only each other or commanders, but – at times – the crowd. It was almost silent except for the sound of muffled footsteps as they moved through the halls and up stairways – their ‘dorms’ were underground, of course; all the better to keep them locked away from freedom.

“So,” one of the older boys – the one that had spoken earlier – jogged up to stand by her side, and squinted at her. “Have you got any plans beyond getting out of here?”

Aranea laughed. “No,” she admitted. “Do you?”

He shook his head. “I wish,” he said, and smiled at her. “I’m Wedge.”

“Wedge,” Aranea said carefully, and returned his smile. “I’m Aranea.”

He grinned. “I know,” he said, and jerked his chin back, gesturing behind them. “That’s Biggs,” he said. “He and I are the only second generationers among the boys. The rest graduated out a few months a back.”

Aranea blinked. “Huh,” she said. That meant…most of the boys were first generation MTs, in direct contrast to the girls, who were outnumbered almost four to one with second generation MTs.

As she considered this, also keeping careful watch of their surroundings and trying to keep an eye on the others crowding around the halls, a scream rang out, from just ahead – a scream that swiftly twisted into a guttural snarl, muffled as if whoever was producing the noise had a hand held over their mouth.

Panic flooding through her momentarily, Aranea pushed herself to put on a burst of speed and sprinted ahead – she _wasn’t_ going to let _anyone_ get their hands on _any_ of _them_ – but before she could turn the corner and see what was going on, the air was knocked out of her by an arm that reached out to grab her as she bolted her way to the front of the crowd, wrapping around her middle.

It was surprise that led her the being caught – but she could feel that the strength in the arm was only human; she felt a growl building in the back of her throat as her hands stiffened into a claw and she reached up to _tear their face off_.

“What the hell are you doing?” A sharp prick in her neck, and everything went _dizzy_. “Drug them _before_ you grab them; they might just look like kids but that’s the _whole point_. They could _rip_ you in _half_.”

A laugh, faint as she slipped down in the arms of whoever it was that held her. “Sorry. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Just hurry it up.” The voice was tense, and female. “We need to get these kids out of here before the others figure out what’s going on over here.”

“Right,” the voice of the one holding her said. And then, _ch-thunk, ch-thunk, ch-thunk_ – a sound that was frighteningly familiar to Aranea; the sound of sedative darts being fired off, as if from the same mechanisms the lab technicians used to keep them all under control.

She moaned, and struggled to open her heavy eyes – moving as much as she could as she heard the others hit the ground – close and far away, some having seen what was happening and tried to run.

“Shh, shh, shh,” the voice that held her said. “Just sleep, Aranea.” It sounded like the voice was smiling. “Everything will be better when you wake up.”

“ _No_ ,” she choked out, tongue thick and dry in her mouth, moving slowly along with her brain. “Let – me – _go_!”

“Is she still awake?” The other voice, the female one, echoing as if coming to her ears through water.

“Yeah, but she won’t be for long.”

“Then put her down with the others. We need to get these kids moved and we can’t do that if you’re just standing in the hall holding her like an idiot. She isn’t going anywhere; and if we don’t hurry this up _none_ of us will.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Before the blackness took her over completely, the last of the colours of the waking world swirling around her mind like a visual lullaby that fizzed in her veins and tasted _bitter_ on the back of her tongue, Aranea felt herself being placed gently down on the floor – and could only hope that the group that had run off in the other direction had managed to get away.

A flicker of gold – she forced closing eyes open once more, for one final glimpse of her reality before what she could only presume to be death: the blonde woman, the one all the first generation kids called ‘matron,’ crouched down by the little boy who had spoken up earlier, the one with the unkempt hair and scared blue eyes.

As the world faded into nothing, Aranea thought she saw her reach out to stroke a hand through his hair.

And then she lost her fight with the drug in her system, and everything was over.

If she could have, she would have cried.


End file.
